The Bride Wears Blue
by Kazzy
Summary: The Doctor makes a slight miscalculation, but at least this time they aren’t running for their lives. TenRose. One shot.


**Pairing: **Ten/Rose**  
Warnings –** It's a tad fluffy. OK, it's a lot fluffy.**  
Spoilers – **None, really.**  
Beta – **The awesome dynapink**  
Summary – **The Doctor makes a slight miscalculation, but at least this time they aren't running for their lives.

**Disclaimer – **The Doctor, Rose, and all elements of the show do not belong to me.

**A/N:** Your thoughts are always valued by me.

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Rose Tyler's been in a lot of prisons over the past couple of years. She's been put on trial more than once as well. Hell, she's even been given a few life (and death) sentences. Travel with the Doctor sometimes seems less 'see the sights of the universe' than 'see the jail cells of the universe'. After all who'd want to see stunning vistas and new alien races when you could have dank stone, torture and execution?

Still, this is a new one, for all it seems to be following the same basic pattern. Granted, this time she's been given a pleasant room, facing west (or whichever way the sun sets on this planet), kept warm by a cheery fire, and decorated in reds and blues. A few hours ago, she was also fed a tasty meal of cold meat and vegetables, followed by some sort of rich, sweet fruit jelly-pie type thing. She was given a hot shower and dressed in luxurious robes. However the door is locked, the windows barred, and there are armed guards standing outside the door.

She was told it was for her protection, so no one could get in and hurt her (because holding the hand of man she wasn't married to is a horrific crime). The judge had been very kind – something else that is a little different than usual, because normally the judges are hard-faced individuals, fully intending to send her to some gruesome fate. Whether or not this said fate is gruesome still has to be seen, but Rose can't imagine it being all that pleasant. Well, maybe… but no, ultimately it will be downright torturous. If she were different, if the situation was different (different time, different place, different everything…), it might be different. But it isn't.

As it is, Rose can check off the pattern: angry, offended aliens, check; locked up, check; put on trial, check; life sentence, check. Yup, same as always.

However, usually she doesn't come out of these situations married. Mostly it involves a lot of running, though sometimes the sonic screwdriver and the psychic paper do play a small roll.

Rose is quite sure those two little gadgets aren't going to get her out of this one.

A tap at the door shakes her out of her thoughts and she calls out for whoever it is to enter, expecting the person to be another servant, with more food or foot baths, or whatever pampering they could come up with now. She isn't expecting to see the Doctor, dressed in the same ridiculous gown as she is, except in green. For a heart stopping minute she thinks he's free and has come to get her and they're about to start on the running part of the programme.

The burly guard with the big taser disabuses her of that notion – neither of them are going anywhere. Their chaperone steps to one side of the door, staring straight ahead, clearly giving them a form of privacy, as much as he can in the small space. They may be engaged, or whatever the correct word is here, but they're not allowed to be alone until the wedding. And god forbid they should actually be allowed to touch. Which was what had got them into this problem in the first place; they'd been holding hands, the locals had assumed they were married (touching and no chaperone), and when they'd corrected said locals, they'd been imprisoned so fast that Rose is sure her head is still spinning.

"Doctor." She rushes forward only to have him put his hand up to ward her off. "Careful," he says, "No—"

"—touching," she finishes for him with a sigh, as the guard seems to put himself on alert for Very Bad Behaviour. "When are we getting out of here?" she murmurs, sotto voce, as the guard relaxes, sure that his charges aren't going to do something so filthy as hug.

"Tomorrow?" the Doctor suggests, looking helpful.

"After the wedding?"

"After the wedding."

"After the wedding night?"

He winces. "After the wedding night. But it's all right, it's not like they'll know what we'll get up to. We'll just go and wait, and in the morning they'll let us go."

"But we'll be married."

"Well-ll…only on this planet. And we can get divorced as soon as we leave…"

"Oh my god! I'm getting married. My mum's going to kill me…"

"Yeah, about that…"

"No," she decides. "She's going to kill you!"

"Yeah. I was sort of thinking we wouldn't tell Jackie about this one."

"I'm getting married, and you don't want me to tell my mum?"

"Briefly. You'll be getting married _briefly_. And I don't see any reason why Jackie should know."

"Oh my god!" she repeats.

"Rose." He moves forward, reaching out. The guard clears his throat and steps forward. The Doctor snatches his hands back and runs them through his hair and down to rub the back of his neck. "Rose," he says, and she looks up to meet his gaze. "It'll be OK. We say a few words, have a big party thrown in our honour, get a fancy room for a night – if with only one bed – and then tomorrow we can leave. And no one will be any wiser. It'll be like it never happened!" he says brightly, as if catching on an idea.

"Oh my god!"

"You keep saying that," he observes.

"We're getting married!"

"And that."

"It's not meant to be like this," she says, finding the right words at last.

"No," he agrees. "No church, no white dress, no groom…"

"There's a groom," she protests, waving a hand up and down to indicate him in his long green wedding…outfit…type thing.

"Human."

It isn't what she meant at all, but she doesn't correct him. Instead the room dims and the walls seem to twist, her knees buckle and she's going down and down. Something catches her about the waist and there seems to be a lot of shouting going on. Awareness returns as she feels herself being tilted back on to something soft, then her feet being lifted up. She opens her eyes in time to see the Doctor yanked back from where he's hovering over her, and forcibly escorted back through the door. She tries to sit up, but everything starts spinning and twisting again and she has to close her eyes to steady herself.

"Wait," she says, and her voice is hoarse. "Don't." But the door bangs shut and she opens her eyes again, this time managing to cling to reality. The Doctor and the guard are gone, but the door opens again, and she is irrationally hopeful, but it is just one of the maids. The woman fusses over her, scolding about men in general and the Doctor in particular.

Rose is embarrassed about having fainted – _fainted!_ – and doesn't say anything, doesn't even ask for the Doctor. She just lets the maid fuss, straightening her robes, and undoing and redoing her hair. Her part in the coming ceremony has been explained, along with what the Doctor will be expected to do. Neither of them will be expected to say anything. Their agreement is considered implicit, whether it is or not.

There's no church or aisle, she is simply brought to a room, richly decorated, with a silver haired woman presiding, and a couple of witnesses. The ceremony is short, and all of a sudden she's walking out of the room, hand finally wrapped in the Doctor's. Rose wonders if they can leave now, but there are still armed guards around, and they're being watched.

This time there's no one angry about impropriety; in fact, the looks they are getting now are approving as they are led into a huge room filled with people.

"Who are they?" she whispers to the Doctor as they are led into the room. He shrugs, and scratches the back of his neck with his free hand.

"Party-goers?" he suggests.

And Rose guesses they are. They start off with a meal, and Rose can't help but watch everything in wonder. The married couples sit down the centre of the room, and on one side are the unmarried men and boys and on the other side, the unmarried women and girls. What amazes her is, apart from the meal, where she and the Doctor sit in what is obviously a place of honour – despite knowing no one there – the non-married people mingle with the married ones, and members of the opposite sex. They are just very careful not to touch – not skin to skin – but everything about them is covered from neck to foot. Including gloves. Only the married couples have bare hands. A pause makes Rose reach for the Doctor again, twining his fingers with hers. He's deep in conversation, with an unmarried man, but he spares her a glance, raising one eyebrow and, giving her an almost smile.

No one dances, not even the Doctor and Rose, or any of the married couples. There are no speeches. But these people seem to get a lot of enjoyment out of the party anyway. She watches them carefully, and almost decides to take back her observation that they don't dance. Because the way they move around each other, without touching, but still completely aware of the space that surrounds them, is graceful.

However, eventually Rose becomes bored. She and the Doctor are not allowed down from their perch, so they are limited in conversation to whoever speaks to them, and the locals aren't all that inclined to approach them. The Doctor is talking a mile a minute to some poor person whose attention he's managed to capture, and while she's usually happy to listen to him when his attention's not focussed on her, she usually finds her own attention wandering. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat and wonders how much longer.

Of course, once this is over she and the Doctor will be escorted up to the room where they will spend the night. Which Rose finds a little awkward. Not because she hasn't slept in close quarters, or even shared a bed once or twice with the Doctor before, but because of the fact that this is their wedding night. She's long ago accepted that it is not happening, not like that (never even really expected it to be honest) but she can't help her imagination. She's married, and it's been a long time, since she'd thought that might happen.

Finally, as if by some unseen signal the part-goers start heading for the exits, the women out one, the men out another and the couples out a third. Rose hasn't yet seen enough of the planet to know how they arrange their living environment, and she's about to ask the Doctor, when the guards come to take them to their room. She wraps her hand around the Doctor's and presses her body in close to his. It's not about seduction, or intimacy, at this stage it's purely a search for comfort. He squeezes her hand and gives her a tight smile. The robes don't suit him, she decides. He looks much better in his suit, showing off his lean form. The robes take away any shape, and wash out any features. Come to think of it, she's not particularly fond of her own, either.

The door shuts behind them and they're alone, properly alone, for the first time all day – and she hasn't had a day like this one, since…well, forever. Exhaustion sweeps over, and she remembers fainting earlier, the memory bringing warmth to her cheeks as she releases the Doctor's hand and sags back against the hard wood that is closed behind her. The Doctor, freed, begins to explore the room.

Like her earlier one, it is richly decorated, but still clearly a prison, and she wonders, as the Doctor checks under the bed, how many of these rooms they have, and how often they're used. The bed is the dominant feature in and is bigger than her earlier one, and she longs to climb into it, awkwardness at the situation be damned. She hasn't noticed the second door, until the Doctor opens it and peers in, a smile lighting his features as he beckons her over.

It's a bathroom with a shower, and Rose is slightly amused that there isn't some deep romantic bath, a hand basin and a toilet. Simpler than the bedroom, functional rather than luxurious, and she can't help but wonder what significance these people place on washing. She thinks about having a shower, but discards the notion, as she had one earlier. It also seems there is nothing for her to change into, except the robes she'd dressed in, which aren't uncomfortable exactly, but cumbersome and heavy. She doesn't relish sleeping in them, but is not prepared to sleep without them.

Rose splashes water on her face, and looks in the mirror. She's not wearing any make up, hasn't been since a maid scrubbed it off her face earlier, before dressing her, and she takes a moment to study her features without their usual cover up. Her skin isn't quite as nice as she would like it to be and her eyes don't stand out as much, the focus going to her mouth instead. The result doesn't make her happy, but she supposes she pretty enough.

Back in the main room, the Doctor is already sitting on the bed, staring into space, brow puckered slightly. His attention snaps back to her as she walks in, and he pats the bed. With no hesitation she climbs up next to him. She slaps the lights off above their heads as he tugs the extra blanket up over them, neither quite prepared to climb under the covers, both out of comfort and intimacy.

Yet Rose has no trouble tucking her head under his chin and draping one leg over his; he pulls her a little closer and brushes his lips against her forehead. When she tilts her head back, he takes the invitation and kisses her lightly. Nothing new, nothing shocking, and she's learned by experience to expect nothing to happen, nothing to come from it. Still, being kissed by the Doctor warms her through, and in this strange situation makes her skin prickle with suppressed desire. Part of her wants to explain to the Doctor what such things mean to humans, and ask if he has any concept of what lying curled up with him on bed and kissing could be interpreted as. She suppresses the desire to press her luck by offering a deeper kiss.

Instead she settles back against him and he sighs softly into her hair, a puff of air tingling along her scalp in time with the sharp rise and fall of his chest. She doubts he'll sleep tonight, but knows he's mostly likely to stay still until she's sleeping, possibly until she wakes. Active nature or not, there's no where to go, nothing to explore and under similar circumstances has stayed with her, even dozing lightly once.

"Have you ever been married before?" Because, he's nine hundred, has had children, and she's always wondered if that was something his people did or not. Whether he chooses to answer or not remains to be seen.

He hums, a little uncomfortably, and she knows she has him in a tough position. The lack of instant denial usually means yes, though it could be some complex issue he doesn't want to explain. But he can't escape from her, so that leaves answering or dodging. Either are viable options where the Doctor is concerned.

"Once," he admits. "Of course things were different back then." Back then could refer to when there were still Time Lords, or to his last regeneration, though she was fairly certain she would have noticed if the last Doctor had been married.

"How?" she asks.

He doesn't elaborate, and turns the conversation away. "And you?" His tone is lighter, teasing; he doesn't expected the answers he's going to get.

"Engaged," she says flatly. "It was a mistake." This brings a sharp intake of breath and his arms tighten around her, but like her, he knows to take it no further and they lie in silence for a long time, until Rose gradually feels her eyelids droop and her limbs become heavy.

-x-x-x-

She wakes the next morning to find herself alone, the door to the bathroom is open and she can hear running water. With nowhere to go, she would normally lie comfortably in bed. But her robes have ridden up, and are tucked in uncomfortable places, so she slides out from under the blanket and tugs everything straight before noticing her own clothes have been cleaned and put on the end of the bed with a towel.

There's morning routine type things like showering and dressing and breakfast. Then with little fanfare they're back in the TARDIS and the Doctor is setting the co-ordinates away. She flops back on the seat and reflects that being married is not particularly exciting. After a moment, she realises the Doctor has been standing at the console longer than need be and is actually staring quite intently at the screen, flipping a couple of switches.

He rocks back on his heels, clicking his tongue, apparently satisfied. "There."

"What?" she asks, getting up to peer over his shoulder, leaning against his long form. On the screen there is a lot writing finished off with a button at the bottom saying "I Accept".

"Annulment form. Click on that button and we were never married."

She looks at it for a moment. "What about you?"

"Oh! Next page."

She's eyes the screen idly and wonders if she should bother reading it in case she's accidentally agreeing to something weird. She doesn't put it past the Doctor to not have read it himself, and then land both of them in trouble, but in the end she shrugs and clicks the button, the screen flickers, refreshed, and the Doctor presses his own button.

"That's it?" she asks a little amazed, she's sure that divorce is supposed to be more lengthy and painful. "After everything that we went through to get married, they let us get an annulment, just like that?"

"Well, no…" he looks a little guilty. "They don't _really_ believe in annulment or divorce, as such, they just separate and marry someone else – no monogamy, though not really polygamy, either, quite sensible when you consider the rates of divorce on Earth, in your time," he says thoughtfully. "It's an intergalactic annulment. Accepted everywhere." He grins at her broadly. "Not that we were ever married anywhere but there. Do you want a copy?"

"Uh?" Rose blinked confused, was she married, or not, had she been either, what? She decided to write it off as one of those weird alien experiences she wasn't going to be repeating anytime soon. "No. I don't think so."

"Good." He seems satisfied and smiles cheerfully, holding out his arms for her. She goes to him easily, hugging him back, and he swings her back and forth a little before setting her down still pressed against her. She tilts her head up as he dips his down and their lips meet again.

Rose decides that two kisses, with only hours between them, means that she might try her luck, gently touching her tongue to his lips. She expects him to pull back but he doesn't, opening his mouth to hers. And for a moment, just for a moment, she's flying.

Then it's all back to reality, and he's off bouncing around the console, yammering on about where they could go next. But he's watching her carefully, eyes dancing, that not quite smile hovering on his mouth. Rose watches him back, feeling smug. She flops down into the chair and decides as boring as marriage was – the whole twelve hours of it – the first few minutes of being annulled have promised to be very interesting.

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_Please review._


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